There Can Only Be One Intercontinental Champion (And The Heartbreak Kid Wants His Belt Back)

These neon lights are throwing stones at your bedroom window, and baby, who are you to resist a charm like that? Footprints in the snow are in dance steps.
Offices resemble chandeliers when your eyes are still wet, and the man on the radio sends the next one out to you; for all the lovers in the room. Does he mix your drinks while you're falling asleep, whispering you love me? Does he mix your drinks? Does he tell you just what you need to believe? You're all dolled up for these nights of your life, and I can't divert my eyes. She looks so damn nice in that ensemble at twilight. Could you re-read your lines, take if from the part where you start to cry, cause I know what to say this time.
That we're just pawns in tight designer jeans. That it's not your fault. That you weren't thinking. It's okay cause you've been drinking darling, so, raise your glass to me. Blackout. Midnight. Choked up. Apologize. Cigarette. Lipstick. Dry eyes. Show time. So, meet me on Front Street when you sober up a bit, baby, and lead me through back streets and alleys. She smiles the loudest sound that I've ever heard, as we sidestep to the tune of falling chandeliers.
The man on the radio is crying out his eyes as he whispers his "I love yous" and "goodnights." Helicopter blades cut off reflected light (they cut reflected light). "I love you, goodnight."